Don't Get Mad, Get Even
by winchestersangel
Summary: Dean Winchester is a psychopathic serial killer, and tonight, he plans on having more fun than ever before with his new victim. (This is something I just felt like putting out there, I am not intending it to be a full story unless its good enough)
1. Chapter 1

_Authors Note: This story is something stupid. I wouldn't even call it a story. Here's the jist of what was going through my mind. _

_I was watching Hannibal and I was thinking about psychopaths and serial killers and I was craving a Serial Killer!Dean AU but then I also wanted him to be socially awkward, kind of like Will Graham is. I don't know. I was planning for Castiel to be the "kind stranger" that Dean meets that night and then it would evolve into Destiel *fireworks*. So yes, this is why it has Castiel as one of the characters._

_This is only a chapter. Im probably not going to post more of this, it was just more of a tester to see what people would say._

_Thank you for reading and I'm sorry if my writing is terrible, I haven't written anything creative in months. _

* * *

"Hi, Im Dean Winchester, and Im a psychopathic serial killer."

He was saying this to the mirror in a cheap motel bathroom. No hot water, no complimentary first class soap. Nope.

He wasn't that kind of person.

Dean Winchester wasn't your typical serial killer (but then again, when are serial killers typical?), but he was working on it, and definitely getting better.

He was socially awkward at a young age for reasons known to be because of his father, John. Parents were always the problem when it came to serial killers and psychopaths or just about anyone in the entire universe. They would pry into your mind and thoughts, jumble it up, making you think you're more of a loser than you actually are, and leave you to reminisce in your self pity and insanity. That was exactly what Dean's father did to him. John Winchester was a manipulative and abusive bastard. But Dean didn't bother to list the reasons in his head again. He had already done that enough.

Eventually, social awkwardness turned into insane behavior. This started when he was seventeen. He was impulsive and remorseful at all the wrong times. He would be lonely, his social anxieties keeping him isolated from anyone and anything. Loneliness was a scary thing for Dean Winchester. He was quiet and contempt, hiding all feelings worth feeling down in the deepest parts of his mind. This soon turned into obsession.

He had gained a friend in his last year of high school, this boy, his name was Andrew. He was sly and remarkably hilarious. Dean loved him, he craved him, he wanted everything and anything to do with Andrew. Needless to say, Andrew was a bit creeped out. Dean didn't care. It was liberating, having someone you could worship to the ends of the earth.

But, what was more liberating?

Seeing Andrew's cold and limp body on Dean's kitchen floor two months later, a knife in his back, Dean's hand the one to jab it there. It was simple. Dean wanted sex. Andrew was straight. And Dean got angry. Very angry.

That was the beginning of Dean's career as a full blown killer. It was fun. He would go out to a bar and sit there awkwardly, a shy yet grim smile on his face. A kind stranger would usually approach him and engage in discussion. Three hours and two orgasms later, the stranger would be dead, and a black 1967 Chevy Impala would speed out of town before the police arrived.

He tried again, this time, a smile on his face (more artificial than anything, Dean hadn't smiled genuinely for eight years).

"Hey there. My name is Dean Winchester. Im a serial killer. Please, let me buy you a drink."

No, no. It was wrong, it was all wrong. Usually he wouldn't be the one to approach someone at a bar, but he had gone so often and smiled so much to the point where no one would approach him. He wouldn't have it, so he decided to take matters into his own hands.

"Uh, hello." Dean started again, furrowing his eyebrows and staring intensely at the mirror, yet keeping his plastic smile. "Heya, pretty lady. Or man, whatever. This is Dea- no, fuck. Im sorry. Fuck. I'll start over." he panicked, shutting his eyes and taking a few short breaths before opening them again and giving the mirror a smirk, his upper lip curving disproportionally. "The name's Dean. Dean Winchester, actually. You look dashing. And hey, its your lucky night. I have money, this place has booze. Drink some. You should drink some now. Now!" he urged, his voice turning into a deep growl, his eyes glaring at the mirror, his hands starting to curl into tight fists.

God, this was getting worse by the minute. He kept on staring at himself in the mirror, the foggy stain making him look ashen beyond belief.

He was planning to make another kill tonight, the bar only a couple blocks away from the dingy motel he was staying at. He would try to approach someone tonight and have fun. Thats what people did, right? Fun. Only this type of fun involved death, Dean's favorite kind of fun.

It would be his twenty fifth kill so far, and tonight, was his twenty fifth birthday. Dean knew that birthday's required celebration, so why not involve the kind stranger for tonight? They could have fun, the stranger would become vulnerable long enough for Dean to prod his favorite knife into their heart.

He smiled grimly again, the corners of his eyes wrinkling as he narrowed them at his own reflection, his upper lip quirking up again.

"Yes. Im Dean Winchester. Im a psychopathic serial killer, and it is my birthday. We're going to have so much fun."


	2. Chapter 2

_Hey everyone! Thank you so much for the positive reviews on the first chapter of this. I wasn't even going to write a second chapter but I've been at a cafe all day and I'm bored so I kind of forced this out. So I'm sorry if its...meh. _

_Please feel free to leave a review or whatever. I love reading all of your reviews, seriously :)_

_Okay, Chapter 2! Enjoy!_

* * *

His eyes were trained on the glass of bourbon in front of him. It had been a while, so the condensation along the outside of the glass was starting to trickle down, only to get soaked up by the napkin tucked under it.

It had been one hour and fifty three minutes of Dean just sitting there, counting each minute, each second, with each tap of his foot. The only time he would glance up would be when the bell over the door of the bar would ring, thus entering another potential victim.

"Hey, buddy," the bartender muttered to Dean, wiping the countertop next to him and picking up a couple empty beers from the previous customers. "You've been here two hours and haven't taken a shot or anything. Drink or you might as well go to the library and pick up virgins."

Dean wasn't actually against that. He had killed virgins before. They were usually the ones who screamed the most, and that wasn't even during the killing part of the night.

"Im waiting for someone." Dean grunted under his breath, another bead of condensation falling onto the napkin.

The bartender scoffed. "Sure." he muttered, rolling his eyes before moving to the end of the counter to serve someone else.

Dean fidgeted in his seat a bit, looking up at the clock. One hour and fifty four minutes. 176 taps of his foot. 26 beads of condensation soaked by his napkin. He shifted again, the bar stool squeaking under his weight. Nobody in the bar looked good enough for Dean. And besides, it was his turn to approach tonight.

The bell rang again, this time, Dean failing to look up as he was counting the 27th bead of water on his glass to fall down. He then heard someone approach him, making Dean swallow and fidget again. He had to kill someone tonight. The longing was aching in his bones. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep until he killed. It wasn't like he could control it. It was just who he was.

Someone sat a couple seats away from him, Dean finally managing to catch a glance at the man. He was tall, his frame was thin but his build was magnificent, the blue shit he was wearing failing to do his muscles justice. Dean glanced at him again, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. His hair was dark brown, almost black, devilishly tousled and rugged.

The man seemed to notice Dean staring at him, since he furrowed his eyebrows and turned his head to stare back at Dean. "May I help you?" he asked, a slight tone of annoyance in his voice.

Now that his head was turned, Dean could make out the color in his eyes, a deep blue that seemed to do wonders for Dean's appetite to kill.

He only seemed to wonder what those eyes would look like once the rest of him was cold and lifeless.

He barely heard the other man speak, now both of them participating in an unannounced staring contest, although the other man only seemed to act more confused than competitive or observant.

"May I help you?" The man asked again, his eyebrows raising, his voice more defiant than before.

Dean nodded and swallowed. "You may help me." he said awkwardly, biting on his lower lip. It turned out that practicing in the mirror didn't help at all, and he was back at square one.

Awkward.

The man scoffed and turned his head to the beer that was placed in front of him, picking it up and sipping it before licking his lips and looking back at Dean. "Yeah?" he answered. "With what?"

Dean swallowed, his foot finally reaching 200 taps. "With everything." he replied quietly, his body stiff, his posture idle.

"I hope thats not an innuendo." The man said, drinking from his beer again, glancing down at Dean's foot, the vigorous and steady taps making him scoff again. "That was terrible."

Dean stared at the other man. The crave to kill was almost overpowering, the sensation taking up his whole body. It made him idle, it made him addicted. Hell, he had to hold himself back in order to keep from pulling out his knife that very moment.

The man stared back at Dean, the other not seeming to accumulate an answer, so he just nodded and laughed. "Right." he muttered, leaning back in his chair.

Castiel Novak was his name. He was pretty much your average joe, maybe even worse. He didn't have a family or kids. Only a dead end job of working at a telemarketer company. He came to this bar often and sure, he met a couple guys, they fucked, big deal. But this guy, he was definitely out of it. The way he stared at Castiel could make anyone feel uncomfortable, but for some reason, Castiel didn't mind it at all. It was amusing, the way he looked at him like he was a piece of fresh, new meat. This guy, Castiel wouldn't mind fucking. He needed something weird in his life anyways.

Dean continued to stare at Castiel. "Im Dean Winchester, and Im a psyc-" he stopped himself. "I-I-I mean….no. Im Dean, yes. Im Dean. But I'm…Im a teacher. Yeah, a teacher." he said, finally giving Castiel that artificial smile he'd spend years working on.

Castiel turned back to look at Dean, a small look of amusement on his face. "A teacher." he repeated, sipping his beer again and letting out a small laugh. "Wow. For someone who cant get a sentence out, you're a teacher. What do you teach then, huh?" he smiled, seeing what else this guy could come up with.

Dean swallowed. Man, he was fucked. He hadn't actually thought of that part yet. He had only gotten far enough to the point where he said his name right, but now, he couldnt even do that.

He was royally fucked.

"Um," he muttered, looking back down at his untouched glass of bourbon. "I teach psychology. I teach about psychopaths."

Castiel raised his eyebrows again. "Psychopaths. Mhmm, fascinating." he played along, leaning towards Dean a bit more. This guy was hilarious. Dean or whatever his name was, he was definitely a keeper.

"Yes." Dean answered, nodding and continuing to offer his cheap smile. "I like psychopathic behavior. I-I mean…Im not a psychopath. Im just saying…its interesting. You know…to learn….about them."

Castiel nodded. "Yeah," he responded, grinning widely. "I bet it is. You definitely don't seem like a psychopath. Not at all."

"Thank you." Dean said stiffly, hoping that he wasn't messing this up more than he thought he was. The other man looked entertained. Well…as long as Dean could kill him, he was happy. "What's your name?" he asked, trying to work up a charm.

"Castiel." Castiel answered, offering his hand for Dean to shake. "Castiel Novak, actually. And don't worry. Not a psychopath."

Dean let out a small, fake laugh before bringing his hand forwards to shake Castiel's. His name was almost sinless, like it didn't deserve to be hurt. But whoops, Dean wasn't one to follow rules. He liked Castiel. But he figured he would like him more if he were dead. "That's a relief." Dean smiled, shaking his hand and waiting a moment before retreating back. "Neither am I."

"So I've heard." Castiel smirked and shrugged, finishing off his beer and giving Dean a smug grin. "Single, I presume."

Dean nodded, looking back at his bourbon before looking back at Castiel. "Yes, I'm single." he said quietly, picking up his glass and beginning to chug it. He didn't want to be drunk enough not to kill Castiel, but he wanted to be at least tipsy enough so he could pass of as charming and somewhat normal.

"Me too." Castiel said, leaving a tip on the counter. He stood up and walked closer to Dean, the others eyes following him as he move. "So, Dean," Castiel started, pulling Dean's glass out of his hands before chugging the rest of it down and flipping the cup over to set it on the table.

Dean watched him carefully, his eyes following each move and smirk the other was making. "So, Castiel," he stated, mocking the other slightly, a small smile creeping on his face.

Castiel's eyes failed to leave Dean's, his lips playing a suggestive smirk, his eyes scanning the others green ones before moving down to his lips. They were full and red, something Castiel would kiss the hell out of of. Castiel knew they were going to have fun tonight.

"So, Dean," Castiel repeated, "What are we waiting for?"


End file.
